


Unto The Climate, The Miscellaneous Archive

by jacksgreysays (jacksgreyson)



Series: The Saga of Windy Strife [2]
Category: Final Fantasy VII, Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Twins, Gen, Resurrection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2018-11-22 04:05:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11372217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacksgreyson/pseuds/jacksgreysays
Summary: (The collection of loosely related snippets and ficlets set in the Into Thin Air x Naruto fusion that needs to be reworked. Originally posted on tumblr





	1. (2015-05-27) ficlet

Spiky blonde hair and bright blue eyes?

Well, zie can’t deny it–the kid would be a shoe-in for Nibelheim’s most infamous siblings. And vice versa apparently.

Hir grasp of the Wutaian language is shaky to passable; on top of that, what the people speak here isn’t quite the same. More like a distant relative. Or descendant.

The kid is staring at hir with wide hopeful eyes, somehow more painfully earnest than hir brother during his most naive moments. He hasn’t looked away from hir since he and his team entered the room.

It’s fair, since zie keeps hir own gaze darting around, only briefly landing on him before moving on.

The old man next to hir plays at being feeble and soft, but zie knows better. Zie would be defeated quite soundly if it came to it. And that’s not including the two hidden guards, or the silver-haired man slouching against the wall.

Zie tries not to shudder in apprehension. It’s the same color as General Sephiroth’s hair, though far more unruly. He might be a clone. Zie can’t tell, due to the mask and strange slanted headband. It wouldn’t be a surprise, considering the Strife look alike.

Perhaps this is all a hallucination, or a fever dream. Aren’t dreams supposed to take faces and images from real life?

The stoic black haired boy might as well be a young Vincent in blue instead of red.

But that wouldn’t make any sense. Because as far as zie remembers, zie’s dead. Dead dead dead dead dead.

And not ever coming back.

That’s what happens when you get stabbed through the heart by a sword taller than you.

But…

No. Dead.

But zie did die in the Forgotten Capital of the Ancients. In place of the Last Ancient. Surely…

The old man says something to the kid, which somehow makes his stare even more intense. The lone visible eye of the masked clone widens slightly.

So something… significant, but not dangerous. The pink-haired girl, at least, hasn’t given hir more than a passing glance. A mildly shocked look, before fading away into polite disinterest.

The old man then says something to hir. Which zie doesn’t understand why, considering they’ve already hit up against a serious language barrier.

But he writes down something, and while the oral language is an effort in futility, the written language at least is comprehensible.

Name.

He passes the pen over to hir, a prompt for hir to answer.

There is no reason to lie. So zie doesn’t.

Namikaze, zie learned long ago, is written with the kanji for waves and wind. But a more poetic interpretation of the name is strife. It’s easy enough to remember, and convenient, as it encompasses hir full born name.

Namikaze, zie later learns, is the name of a dead hero.

A hero with spiky blonde hair and bright blue eyes.


	2. (2015-06-15) ficlet

The same week that Windy meets hir erstwhile… nephew… they are situated in a new two bedroom apartment situated on all sides by ninja, three of whom are pretending to be civilians. Zie doesn’t mind it too terribly, and it’s not the worst situation zie will find hirself in in this strange future world.

(Approximately four years later, Windy is screaming, to the utter surprise of not only Konoha and their allies, but also their enemies because, “FUCKING JENOVA? AGAIN?! FUCK THIS SHIT!”)

Sharing domestic space with what amounts to a total stranger isn’t new. At the very least it’s a stationary home base with a non-hostile person, which is more than could be said for hir previous attempts at co-habitation, and, while still a teenage boy in all that entails, Naruto is decent at keeping things tidy even if they’re not necessarily clean. Also, it’s not a barracks full of nine teenage boys. After that? One is a cake walk.

The language barrier, however, continues to be an issue. It doesn’t help that Naruto, apparently, isn’t a very concise speaker and his hand writing is awful. But facial expressions and body language and tone of voice are effective enough communicators, and zie was a Turk so… Windy makes do.

Windy spends most of hir time shadowing hir nephew, trying not to cringe every time the slouching not-Sephiroth looks in hir direction, inwardly laughing at how fluffy and disgruntled the tiny Valentine look-alike is, and pondering which of hir past acquaintances would best fit the pink-haired girl. Zie regrets it when zie considers it might be Lockheart, because Lockheart has always hated hir. A mutual hatred, of course, but it sucks that the memory taints hir perception of someone who is clearly an important person in hir nephew’s life.

When not doing that, or when zie finally gets bored of that, Windy tries to figure out how this strange future world works. All of the ninja seem to have the physical prowess somewhere between a normal human and a SOLDIER, even the younger ones would be a match for a Turk at peak health. Physically, that is.

But hir nephew’s martial arts style, if it can even be called such a thing, is shoddy at best. Such a thing could get him killed, so zie does hir best to correct it… by occasionally pummeling him into the ground. It reminds Windy of hir brother, really.

On top of superior strength and speed, the ninja can use magic without materia. But it varies, not only between ranks, but between individuals of the same rank. Not everyone has the same magical skills, but theoretically everyone could use the same jutsu.

Zie’s lucky the old man didn’t see fit to take hir materia, shiny and obvious as they are. It gives hir a semblance of a fighting chance. And zie means that literally.


	3. (2015-07-14) ficlet

Windy and Cloud Strife.

She was always an adjective–clever, skillful, ruthless, transient–and it was all fine. Fine, another adjective. It was good enough, she was good enough. Her brother, well, he may not have been as clever, as skillful, but he had big dreams and a heart of gold. He wasn’t an adjective, he was a noun. He could be a hero. She could be helpful, but fleeting.

That’s just the way it had always been.

—

Zie learns, much much later, after the significance of the name Namikaze, that sealing–fuinjutsu–is not a common skill. In fact, the talent to not only wield it effectively, but to understand it, is very rare.

The last person to gain the title of Fuinjutsu master was also the last person to use the name Namikaze.

It’s not something zie actively takes advantage of, but it certainly is a nice bonus.

The problem, or perhaps, the opportunity arises, because as far as Windy can tell, seals use the same writing system as normal text. Arranged in specific ways, yes, but still just normal text.

Code-breaking zie knows, taught by the Turks, coding as well. Sealing is simply both, zie concludes, where the symbols are adapted Wutaian.

But zie thinks it’s a common skill. Zie sees a lot of the shinobi using tags and scrolls with seals–to explode, to contain, to summon–even low ranking ones. So zie thinks it’s normal.

Windy masters fuinjutsu before zie becomes fluent in the spoken language.


	4. (2016-11-17) ficlet

“Fuyu-san,” a voice says, young and hesitant and easily ignored.

Windy isn’t interested in getting involved. Isn’t interested in anything.

“Fuyu-san,” the voice repeats, coming closer, not catching the hint at all.

Zie sighs, shaking out of hir stupor, turning to face her… nephew.

Coloring and spiky hair aside, Naruto doesn’t look much like her brother. Face rounder, skin darker, and while the furrowing of his brows isn’t too far off, it doesn’t suit Naruto’s face.

“U-intaa-san?” Naruto tries, accent stumbling over the pronunciation of Windy’s Turk name.

“Fuyu is okay,” zie assures, hir own accent no doubt odd to his ears. Winter was trained to understand Wutaian, but there didn’t seem to be much use in teaching him how to speak it–no one would believe any version of Windy to be of Wutaian heritage.

And the language of the Elemental Nations isn’t quite Wutaian… not anymore.

Naruto still looks hesitant, and for all that Windy is miserable that doesn’t mean he deserves to be.

She smiles, or tries to, and Naruto gives a shaky smile in return.

Once, Winter was the best actor of the Turks, capable of charming anyone; oh, how the mighty have fallen. (Once, Windy remembers being stabbed through the chest, eyes closing for what should have been the final time.)

“Naruto here, why?” zie asks, gesturing to the sparsely furnished room that is all zie has in this strange place (time).

“Food!” Naruto says with a truer grin, “Ramen!” he clarifies, a little unnecessarily.

Ever since the old man–Ho-ka-ge, zie has to remember–gave them an apartment for two, it seems as if every other meal is ramen. She’d worry about malnutrition, if she cared at all.

Naruto waits, reaching toward her but not touching, letting her decide.

He deserves better than a distant relative who can’t speak properly and needs to be taken care of and doesn’t do anything. He deserves better than Windy.

But fate has never been kind to Strifes, and they’re all each other has.

Zie takes his hand.

—

Winter’s suit is packed away, too sharp and too cruel for this world of color and brightness. Instead, Windy wears borrowed clothes–ironically enough, it’s still a dark blue uniform.

Though without the green combat vest and the strange metal plate with the symbol of Ko-no-ha, the uniform looks more like pajamas or sweats. Regardless, Naruto beams when she emerges from her room, and rattles off a sentence too quick for her to understand.

Zie thinks maybe it was a compliment, or an attempt at one, something about looking like a shinobi.

Shinobi, Windy understands, is what the military call themselves. Ninja is the term civilians use.

On their way to the ramen stand, Windy catches flickers of movement in hir peripheral vision–black cloaks and bone white masks–and wonders what those hidden guards are called.

Naruto continues to chatter, heedless of whether zie is understanding, much less responding. His facial expressions and wild hand gestures are far more engaging than his words, from what zie can interpret he’s talking about fighting someone who is grumpy.

As they near the ramen stand, Naruto calls out, a greeting to his team.

Windy tries not to freeze in place.

Sephiroth, the silver hair warns her. Murderer, run away, Sephiroth.

Hir steps do not falter.

Naruto rushes ahead to take a seat beside his female teammate, splitting his time between fawning over her and ordering a bowl, which somehow leaves the only free seat next to his teacher.

He does not do Windy the discourtesy of turning around and watching, but she can still sense a vibe of attentiveness as she meets the challenge.

“Miso please,” Windy says to Ichiraku-san, and waits for the other shoe to drop.


	5. Part One (2017-03-21)

Winter chokes, breath punched out, unable to even cough or speak.

Windy’s last moments:

Sephiroth descending.

Hir own desperate shove at Aerith.

Cloud’s stunned expression–blank and open, as if he could not even begin to understand what he was seeing.

One final gift to hir brother.

Winter’s ultimate duty fulfilled.

Windy dies in a temple below the Forgotten Capital in the place of the Last Ancient.

(The Planet is not ungrateful)

—

Windy gasps awake, blind and desperately flailing. There are voices around her, but she does not recognize them; Winter cannot understand the language, either.

Hands grip at hir, hold him down.

She screams.

Pressure and warmth–skin on skin contact–before the slickly flowing rush of a spell flows over her.

Sleep.

(You are not finished yet)

—

The Planet is not ungrateful, but neither is it kind.

—

Windy’s first moments:

Blinking, placid consciousness. Breathing undeterred.

A room, a bed; bright light and white curtains.

Murmuring, unintelligible voices–but no hands, no magic–no one in sight.

A hospital.

Winter does not bother feigning sleep.

—

The problem is clear early on. The solution less so.

Winter was taught to understand Wutaian–to read and write and listen–all the better to eavesdrop, all the better to spy.

Windy was never taught how to speak it, the words garbled by her double layered accent: the short country Nibel clip mimicking the drawl of urban Midgar. It would be embarrassing if it weren’t for the fact that whatever these people are using isn’t even proper Wutaian.

He’d assumed some kind of cribbed code at first, but it’s not recurrent enough, too expansive.

And if it were, why would they even try to use it with her?

As it is, zie is lucky body language is universal enough that keeping his hands flat and visible at all times is enough to signal that she has no qualms about these strangers and she is no threat whatsoever.

(Windy did always excel at subterfuge)

—

They give hir a pencil, noticeably dull, and a paper with a single question.

For this, both Winter and Windy Strife write their truth.


	6. Part Two (2017-03-22)

Fuyu Namikaze is a mystery. An impossibility. A trap?

Perhaps.

Orochimaru had always been simultaneously his most dramatic and most subtle student:

A full scale invasion in the middle of the the chuunin exams, using the reanimated former Hokages as puppets? As showy as ever.

But the months of preparation before that–an entirely new hidden village and not a peep on who the leader is, an alliance with one of the big five (never mind Sand’s fading glory)–all quiet, patient machinations.

Hiruzen knows he has not always been the best at judging those close to him, but he’s certain that it was honest surprise on Orochimaru’s face. Shock and no small amount of fear when the Shinigami reached for the last unopened coffin.

A life for a life, that is currency of gods. Hiruzen is old, far past his prime, has outlived his wife, a child, his successor, and now a student.

But his student was the one who had perverted the laws of nature; his student who the Shinigami had taken in exchange for Fuyu Namikaze.

Perhaps Fuyu Namikaze was a trap, meant to be a different blue eyed blonde resurrected, a psychological attack and indomitable puppet both. But Orochimaru had been too afraid of dying, would never have planned with that possibility in mind.

He hadn’t thought to take the Shinigami into account, and gods do not take well to human hubris.

The student who had wanted immortality was the first to die, the Shinigami leaving Hiruzen untouched once more along with the mysterious, impossible Fuyu Namikaze.

—

Inoichi is suspicious.

Then again, there is a lot going on for Inoichi to be suspicious of. An invasion from two different villages, Orochimaru’s return, and possible sleeper agents in Konoha’s own forces will do that.

Luckily, there are a few Sound and Sand shinobi who have survived long enough to be given over to T&I’s tender mercies, but Inoichi is retired and that’s not what he’s most suspicious of anyway.

He remembers Minato Namikaze. Remembers how that gentle expression hid the sharpest mind of their age. Remembers how a clanless orphan rose up from nothing and skyrocketed to the top loved and respected by the people.

Fuyu Namikaze is not him. Fuyu Namikaze is a stranger with familiar features and damning genetic similarity to a fallen hero. But like Minato, Fuyu Namikaze understands far more than she lets on, everything hidden behind a passive smile.

But Konoha could use a rallying point in these trying times, and the appearance of a relative (sister?) of their fallen, beloved Yondaime is a good opportunity.

Inoichi waits and watches for Fuyu Namikaze to be worthy.

—

Jiraiya stands in the wreckage of his home and knows that this is only the beginning.


	7. Part Three (2017-12-08)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part of the [Ask Box Advent Calendar](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11405592/chapters/25547247), prompted by to-someplace-else

The problem with Fuyu Namikaze is that she appeared so publicly.

She is not some spy abducted in the quiet of the night, plausible deniability erasing her existence, or a conspirator whose own paranoid privacy wraps the noose around her neck.

She appeared on the rooftop where the Hokage and Konoha’s most infamous missing-nin were fighting, awakened by the Shinigami itself.

But even if secrecy could be enforced amongst the witnesses–not so unbelievable, given they were mostly ANBU and high ranking shinobi at the scene–she was then brought to the hospital, a screaming, uncontrollable ruckus right there in patient intake.

And while, true, it was just one incident in the midst of already so much chaos–an invasion does not immediately end simply because one side has been defeated–people saw her, spread the news.

People want a hero.

Ibiki shakes his head, considering the woman on the other side of the one-way mirror.

Fuyu Namikaze is not a hero.

But she looks enough like the last one that maybe they can make do.

“Send him in,” he orders, eyes never leaving Namikaze.

“Which one?” Anko asks, irreverent as always–but she’s not wrong: there are two options that Ibiki thinks will give the most information about their guest.

He glances over at his second in command. No doubt she is both celebrating and coping with the death of her former sensei–it’s been a hard couple of weeks for her. She deserves this.

“You choose.”

—

Windy stares at the cup of tea in hir hands–paper, of course, don’t want to risk giving the prisoner something breakable, something that can produce shards. It really is quite a nice interrogation room: everything soft and subdued and only slightly uncomfortable. Like the ShinRa conference rooms.

Given the number of shifts Winter had tailing the department heads, this is practically his second home. He might very well take a nap.

There’s a soft pulse of magic then a click–the door unlocking. Zie wonders who they’ll send in: the grizzled hard ass to intimidate her or the kindly old man who only wants for her to help him help her?

Frankly, Windy has no idea why they’re trying anything given zie can’t understand a word they’re saying.

The boy who enters is just exactly that: a boy, no older than thirteen–fourteen maybe if he’s the same kind of late bloomer as hir brother–and yet he’s wearing the green flak jacket of a trooper.

Ah, appealing to her emotional side, then.

The boy stares, mouth agape, expression honest and honestly hopeful.

Zie regrets the comparison to hir brother, now. Damn it, they’re good.

Clearly they’re looking for something, so zie might as well give them what they want.

“Sit,” Windy says, which doesn’t prompt anything in the boy until zie gestures to the chair beside hir. Across the table is too distant, reserved for her interrogators, they want to see her be softer, more vulnerable.

The boy sits. He doesn’t stop staring.

Zie’s already reaching for her dull pencil and pad of paper, “Name?” zie asks, writing down the Wutaian character that they used–thankfully that seems to be the same–before sliding both over to the boy.

He writes, trying to maintain visual of hir at the same time which is… some kind of feeling… before returning them.

Maelstrom.

Now that’s a solid Strife name.

—

Kakashi waits.

What a bizarre thing to do.

Normally he’s the one that people wait for, but not today it seems.

Anko probably did that on purpose. He just waits and watches in the viewing room, his teacher’s son–his student–and his teacher’s… sister? Relative?… interact and it’s doing… something to him.

Yeah, given the smirk on Anko’s face, she definitely did it on purpose.

Ibiki knocks on the glass–Naruto startles, the prisoner doesn’t–signaling time’s up. Kakashi’s mildly surprised: it’s the quietest he’s ever seen Naruto, most people would do a lot for that.

However Naruto, perhaps overly mindful of how new his chuunin status is–or, more likely, feeling self conscious of the casual kindness the woman has shown him–gets up to leave.

But not before the woman reaches out and brushes a hand against his cheek, hand glowing a pale green.

Kakashi can feel his own eye narrow in suspicion.

“What the fuck was that?” Anko spits out, stepping over to where the controls for the room’s seals are, “We’re at level two, she shouldn’t be able to do any jutsu in there.”

Ibiki says nothing before Naruto returns, no doubt eager to claim a spot in front of the one way mirror to resume his staring.

“What did she do to you?” Ibiki asks him, a quick jolt of chakra to disrupt any possible genjutsu.

Naruto, showing his quickly won loyalty–not exactly a good trait, especially in front of the head of T&I–bristles at the accusatory tone. “Nothing, scar-head, she was really nice!”

“She can’t even speak our language,” Anko refutes.

“That doesn’t mean she can’t be nice,” Naruto starts, at which point Kakashi tunes out.

Maybe it was nothing.

Naruto did have a bruise on his face earlier–a yellowing remnant of his fight against Sand’s jinchuuriki–which is no longer there.

Then again, Naruto does have a known healing factor; maybe it was nothing.

“Your turn, Hatake,” Ibiki interrupts, silencing the argument–literally, it just turns into one of stuck out tongues and ugly faces–and adding a simple warning, “Watch yourself.”

Yeah, he doesn’t believe it was nothing either.

—

Anko remembers the Yondaime vaguely–or, as vaguely as can be done when his face is carved into the mountain overlooking the village–which makes sense given it’s been over a decade and the time before that she had been… well.

That fucking snake bastard, not even an eternity in the Shinigami’s stomach is enough suffering.

She doesn’t have that weird nostalgia about him that some of the other shinobi have, and certainly none of the creepy starry-eyed zeal that the civilians do, but what she remembers of him is probably not the full picture.

Better than that snake bastard could mean anything: kinder, more charismatic, more competent, stronger, smarter, hell even better looking!

(Stone isn’t exactly the best medium for glamour shots, but if Fuyu Namikaze really is so shockingly similar, well. She’s certainly easy on the eyes, is all Anko will say about a current prisoner.)

Definitely a better teacher, that’s for sure, and Anko will never admit to being jealous of Kakashi Hatake but she’d certainly trade if that were an option.

It’s clear Fuyu Namikaze is bringing up all sorts of emotions in that deadened heart of his. Probably this next bit will be more revealing about him than her, but might as well, right?

… except as soon as Kakashi walks through the unlocked door, Fuyu Namikaze bugs the fuck out: face draining of color, feet flat on the ground and retreating as far back as she can get. She makes a motion–grabbing for something on her back that isn’t there, a weapon maybe?–before picking up the chair and chucking it at him.

It’s not much. Chairs aren’t exactly aerodynamic and these ones even less so–weighted to make it harder for prisoners to do shit exactly like this–Kakashi easily shifts out of the way, but it’s clear on the tiny patch of visible expression that he’s confused as fuck.

“Hey, what’s going on?” the brat asks, probably more to make noise than anything else.

It’d be funny except then Fuyu Namikaze’s hands begin to glow, a darker, cooler green–blue, almost–and Ibiki barks, “Level three, now!”

Anko complies, activating the stronger set of seals on the room. Level two prevents jutsu use–or, at least, it should–level three knocks out the inhabitants… or, at least, it should…

Kakashi goes down pretty easily–he’s nearly as famous for chakra exhaustion as he is his Sharingan–but Fuyu Namikaze stays standing for a few more moments, not even puasing, shards of what looks like ice forming around her hand, before she sways once, twice, and falls to the ground.

“Get him out of there!” Ibiki says to the two T&I flunkies guarding the door who immediately jump to obey; then he turns to her and raises an eyebrow.

Anko shrugs, she doesn’t know what he wants her to say. “Yeah, that was fucking bizarre.”

Which isn’t exactly out of line for Fuyu Namikaze.


End file.
